by Tim Susman
“Being out here isn’t safe now it’s light. Come on.”
Kip ordered his demon to show Malcolm the world around him as they hurried back into the nearest building, a warehouse next to the Customs House. Lowell bolted the door behind them as they picked their way among the empty crates scattered around the floor. Once Alice had stationed herself at the window to watch for cannonballs, Kip sent his demon to scout the battle and tell him what was happening.
“How’s your control?” Malcolm asked in a low voice.
“Fine. Better than I’d expected.” Kip breathed. “It’s not fighting me much. I think not making it fight the other demon helped. I might bring the other one too if we’re going to stay in here. I want eyes outside.”
“You can’t summon two demons at once, and one a fourth level,” Lowell said flatly. “Don’t endanger the battle.”
“That one I think is a third level, not a fourth,” Kip said, “and I can get the power to do it. My other demon is very easy.”
He took out his knife, but as he set it to his arm, Alice turned and took a step toward him. “Let me.”
“Keep an eye out for cannonballs,” he said, and drove the knife into the crook of his elbow. Methodically, he cleaned the knife and then set his lips to the wound.
Another impact struck close to them; Alice whirled back to her window to watch the sky, her paws glowing turquoise as she gathered magic. Kip, too, summoned magic, holding the bat-demon while he constructed the spell to summon Nikolon.
“Are the wards being tested?” Lowell asked Malcolm while Kip spoke the summoning spell.
“A mite. Here and there. Nothing I can’t handle.”
When Nikolon appeared in her female Calatian form, Kip asked her to watch the area around them for any threats. Through the other demon’s sight, Kip judged the battle in the city to be about even; demons thickened the air, changed the landscape, and demolished buildings, making the ground more treacherous for the soldiers and in some cases probably killing them.
“I can’t tell who’s winning the battle,” he said, as he ordered the demon back out to sea to look for the fleet. “Where are these ships supposed to be?”
“Approaching the harbor, that’s all I know,” Lowell replied.
Malcolm asked, “Could they have turned and gone back to Charleston?”
The captain turned to Malcolm. “Then why attack here?”
“Diversion?”
“It’s a costly diversion. If it were just the cannon…” He trailed off. “Penfold, you said the battle is engaged?”
“Yes.” Kip scanned the sea through his demon’s eyes, looking for anything, any telltale of a fleet. But the ocean was vast, and the wind meant that it was hard to distinguish natural whitecaps from the wake of a ship, especially if those ships were anchored. Look for cannonballs, he told the demon on the ocean. See if you can determine where they’re coming from.
“Then they must mean to take the harbor.”
Cannonball coming close, Nikolon warned him. “Cannonball,” he repeated aloud to Alice.
She raised her paws. “I see it,” she said matter-of-factly.
Kip tried hard to fight the feeling of being lost and useless. Malcolm warded them; Alice protected them from cannonballs, and what had he done to make all that worthwhile? He’d burned one ship and the cannonballs kept coming. American soldiers were being killed, and he was here trying to find ships on a seemingly endless sea.
Another idea occurred to him. Search for the smell of men and gunpowder on the air, he told the demon.
Another cannonball, Nikolon said. Kip passed the warning on to Alice and then Nikolon said, That smell is out in the harbor.
“What?” Kip ran to the window where Alice stood and scanned the harbor. It still appeared empty. He opened the window a crack and put his nose to it. Mostly he smelled the sea, but—yes, there, a faint trace of gunpowder. He wouldn’t have detected it before; it had taken time to blow here once the cannon started firing. But not very much time.
Captain Lowell ran to his side and slammed the window closed. “What are you doing?”
“The ships are just north of the harbor,” Kip said. “They’re not missing. They’re firing at us.”
“They can’t be,” Captain Lowell said. “It’s something else. It’s—” His eyes widened. “Those soldiers running away when we first arrived. They must have seen us—It’s a trap.”
“My wards are breaking,” Malcolm called. “Trying to hold them up, but—no, someone’s close.”
Captain Lowell grabbed Kip’s wrist. “We have to get out of here. Out the back. Come on, now!”
“There’s a man outside!” Alice called.
If there were a fight among sorcerers, the captain would be a liability. So Kip gathered magic. “Tell Master Colonel Jackson,” he said, and sent Lowell back to the headquarters.
No sooner had he done that than Alice cried out. Kip spun around to see her backing away from a black-robed sorcerer, a narrow man with a pointed black beard who raised a skeletal hand to Kip immediately. “We have your friend,” he said in a cultured London tone. “Your eyeless friend. If you wish him dead, by all means kill me.”
Kip had already pulled magic from the earth but now stopped short of casting a spell, standing there with purple glow wreathing his black-furred paws. The British sorcerer smiled. “Good. Now I’m sure you’ve summoned a demon. Bring it here and dismiss it, and speak the spell out loud.”
Demon, singular. He told Nikolon to go a hundred miles down the coast, not knowing what other demons these sorcerers might be employing to make sure Kip complied with their wishes. Then he brought the bat-demon back to the warehouse. He’d maintained control of it even through the surprise, but there was no time to congratulate himself on his accomplishment now.
When he’d spoken the dismissal spell, the other sorcerer nodded in satisfaction and walked over to him. “Good. Now, this won’t hurt a bit. Just relax.”
He reached out and Kip felt a lurch inside him. “There, you see?” the sorcerer said. “It’s easier when you go along with it.” He walked to the window and waved at it.
A moment later, another sorcerer appeared inside the warehouse. “All secured?”
“Aye, Penfold’s taken care of. His calyx is no threat.”
“Good. Let’s go on with you then. The Brigadier General is waiting for you.”
Was that Albright? Kip allowed himself to be taken by the paw. The world spun and he found himself in a small, dark wooden room smelling of stale rum, rope, brine, and Malcolm. His stomach wobbled; it took him a moment to realize that the floor was tilting back and forth.
“Kip?” Malcolm spoke from behind him.
“Aye. I’m here, and so is Alice.” She had her ears back as she stepped close to him, and he put his arm around her.
“They took my magic away.”
“Mine too.” He squeezed Alice’s shoulder. She looked up at him, eyeshine flashing, and he gave her a quick shake of his head. Malcolm would understand her silence. “And they made me dispel the bat demon.” Again, relying on what was unsaid.
“So here we are.” Malcolm sat down against the wall. “It looked like Lowell got away, anyway.”
“He’ll report back. Maybe we’ll be rescued.”
“Maybe.” Kip and Alice sat together against the wall. “At least it seems they don’t want to kill us right away.”
His heart clenched as he said that. They’d already threatened Malcolm’s life; now they had two people Kip cared about to ensure that he would do what they asked. Burn the town of Savannah? Kill American soldiers? Albright, or his superior, cared enough about Kip’s abilities to send messages specifically to him, so what would they do now that they had him?
And, he wondered, now that he had no magic, what had become of Nikolon? The last time he’d been cut off from magic, the elemental he’d bound had remained bound, so perhaps the binding was intact. But when he tried to speak to Nikolon, there was no re
ply, and he wondered if he were only thinking the words and nobody was hearing them.
Hours went by. They spoke very little, aware that someone might be listening, though Kip’s nose told him no demons were nearby. In the silence, Kip’s mind spun worse and worse futures for them, beginning with Alice and Malcolm being executed and moving on to Albright casting a spiritual hold that would make him set fire to the American army. He told himself there was no use worrying until something happened; those were easy words to say but harder to feel, especially when he looked at Malcolm and Alice. Malcolm had made his own decisions, but Kip could have protected Alice better, could have forbad her from joining the army. He knew even as that thought crossed his mind that he would never have been able to stop her without irreversibly damaging their relationship, but that didn’t ease any of his guilt.
And what of the men on the ships he’d spared? They’d been only decoys, probably, but what if some of them had been the ones who’d captured the three of them? If he’d completely destroyed the ship as Jackson had ordered, would they perhaps be safe now?
As if sensing his emotions, Alice reached out and took his paw in hers. “We’ll be rescued,” she said.
“I hope so.” He squeezed her paw back.
“Course we will.” Malcolm rested a hand against the wall of the cabin.
“That message from Albright,” Alice said. “It seems like he wants you to think you’re terribly important. Not that you aren’t! But it puts a lot of pressure on you. You might be so anxious to save the day that you make a mistake.”
“You mean, like I just did?”
Alice shook her head. “You didn’t make a mistake. You were following orders. The people giving the orders made a mistake. And anyway, we’re going to be rescued, remember?”
“I think Alice has the right of it,” Malcolm said.
“She often does.” The guilt didn’t disappear, but became easier to bear, and Kip relaxed. “Where do you think we are? Still in Savannah?”
“Maybe New York,” Alice said.
“Could be London.” Malcolm rubbed his stomach. “The question growing most important to my mind is: will they feed us?”
This question became more important as the day ticked on, and when the door opened to reveal a short blond sorcerer, that was the first thing Malcolm asked. Kip stayed quiet; the shape almost resembled Victor Adamson in the light of the doorway, but a moment later he caught the scent and it was all wrong for Victor.
“You’ll get food eventually,” the man said. “Come on up. The Brigadier General wants you to see this.”
He led them to the upper deck of what was revealed to be a British frigate, three proud masts holding sails that were partly furled. They sat in Savannah harbor amid smoking ruins of buildings, and even in the inconstant swirling wind, Kip could smell the distinctive odor of corpses through the smoke and salt air. Around them in a broad circle, twenty or thirty more ships sat at anchor, while three small ships sailed up the river.
The sorcerer brought them to the side of a red-haired man Kip had never seen before, wearing a high-ranking officer’s uniform. When he saw the three prisoners, he turned and gave a cold smile. “Excellent. Thank you, Dewaite. You may remain.”
Their escort nodded and took up a position behind Kip. The general continued. “We’ve not had the pleasure, Master Penfold. I’m Baron Stafford, the Brigadier General of His Majesty’s Sorcerers in the Royal Navy. So you understand that you’ve been trapped by the very best, and there’s no shame in that.” He pointed out toward the shore. “I wanted you to see that our men have taken Savannah, and just on the other side of that building, several hundred of your fellow traitors have been taken prisoner. Your sorcerers have fled back to New York, no doubt, where we are pressing on the attack as well.”
Kip said nothing. Stafford didn’t look at him again, but continued to stare out at the harbor. “So you see, this war will soon be over. You can do some good still, by tipping the balance to end it even more quickly. Should you learn to use your prodigious powers properly, you might prolong the conflict by weeks or even months, causing the deaths of so many more.” The general clasped his hands behind his back. “But in the end, the result will be the same. All of this will remain part of the greatest empire in the world. All of those people there, those self-styled ‘Americans,’ will remain citizens of the British Empire.” Now he turned to fix Kip with a steady eye. “The ones who haven’t lost their lives, that is.”
This was the point where the general expected a reply. Kip clasped his paws together in front of him. If Stafford thought that being faced with the top sorcerer in the Royal Navy would intimidate him, he had no idea that Kip had regularly talked with Master Colonel Jackson and John Quincy Adams, among others. So he said, “I presume that now we are inside the wards, and that’s why I can see all the ships?”
Stafford blinked. “Yes. Of course.”
“I wasn’t sure the wards would render them invisible to demons. I had to try, though.” He inclined his head. “You said this was a trap? The whole battle?”
“We sent the messenger to ensure you would be brought to Savannah at the time of our attack. I believed that your Colonel Jackson—”
“Master Colonel,” Kip interrupted boldly.
Stafford looked about to strike him, but restrained himself. “Jackson would be unable to resist a tempting target of flammable wooden ships. Your fire confirmed it.” He lifted his chin, smug.
“And you abandoned certain areas but left lookouts behind who could sense magic, or who would notice when they couldn’t focus on part of the harbor.”
“Demons riding along on cannonballs, actually. They reported to us when and where cannonballs were diverted.”
Kip cursed himself. Malcolm had even told them at Bunker’s Hill that enemy sorcerers could detect the effect of a ward, and none of them had thought twice about diverting the cannonballs. “Then you sent sorcerers to break our wards somehow.”
Behind him, their escort—Dewaite? Dewaite—snorted. “Yes, well,” Stafford said. “Your sorcerer is good, but you know, there are always ways to break wards.”
“If you have sight, you mean,” Malcolm said. “No need to spare my feelings, my good man. I’m well aware of my limitations.”
Malcolm’s cheerful smile might not have survived the withering glare he got for calling Stafford “my good man,” but then again, it might have. The Brigadier General snorted. “Sight is one way. Had you been educated at King’s College, you might know a few others.”
“Perils of a colonial education,” Malcolm said. “Along with having classmates uncouth enough to summon huge eye-stealing demons. But you know, I’m just as glad not to have sight right now.”
He was not looking out across the harbor toward the smoke and the American defeat, but rather right at Baron Stafford. The latter, already a little red from his speech, flushed further and turned to Kip. “We have sorcerers who could restore those eyes, you know.”
Kip stayed silent and Malcolm replied. “Ah, I’m grateful for the lie, but truly, I’ve come to accept my fate.”
Stafford didn’t say anything, but continued to look steadily at the fox. His meaning was clear: if you cooperate. His promise held no weight; demon curses remained impossible to reverse according to everything Kip had heard. Stories had survived of sorcerers who ordered demons to reverse demon curses and had ended up worse off than when they started. Master Odden had specifically told Kip that even if he summoned the same demon and ordered him to exactly reverse the curse he’d placed on Malcolm, there might be other consequences. For example, Master Petterton of Essex had been cursed with bright violet skin and had commanded the demon to reverse his condition; it turned out that the demon had placed a deadlier curse on his mind that would not take effect as long as his violet skin remained. When the demon removed the violet skin according to his command, Master Petterton lost his mind. Another Master had thought to circumvent this by ordering the demon to make him e
xactly as he’d been just before the curse, and the demon thus empowered had restored him to a state where he had no memory of what had happened since the curse—and also to a state in which he’d lost control of the demon, just as he had before the curse, and this time the demon changed him into an earthworm.
Kip felt very much like those old masters now, trying to outwit the British military, but they were only men, he reminded himself. He didn’t reply to Stafford, but kept his eyes trained on Savannah and tried not to think of the men who’d died. What if he’d joined the battle, moved away from the harbor? He might not have been caught. British ships might not now control the harbor, might not be moving up the river.
Up the river toward Peachtree, where his parents lived. His father would tell him not to worry about what might have been, but worry about what could be. So he breathed in and out, trying to ignore the smells, and eventually Stafford said, “All right, you need more time. That’s fine, we have only started to make our argument.”
Kip’s father’s theoretical advice did not take hold well. Sorcery was supposed to give you power over the world, and yet here he stood, being told that his decision could affect the lives of thousands, caught between his convictions and his respect for life, and he had no power to escape. He should be able to forge his own decisions, but with a simple spell they had stolen his magic from him, leaving him with only guilt and a tightness in his chest. He could not bring himself to speak again.
Stafford tired of him after that and ordered them returned to the close wooden cabin. When Dewaite had shut the door, Malcolm sat down and said, “You figure they intend to feed us, or only if we betray our fellows?”
“Shh.” Kip had his ear to the door. Outside, Dewaite was talking to another man, instructing him to guard the cabin. They’d lowered their voices enough to prevent any human with an ear to the door from hearing them. But even without magic, Kip’s excellent hearing had taught him to pick out minute sounds from a loud background, and so he heard the other man ask Dewaite if they were going up river with the others, heard Dewaite’s “no” and then Dewaite saying, “I expect they’re bound for Gibraltar, but they’ll go by sorcerer. Once Master Albright arrives, he’ll decide what to do.”
